


5 Times Richelieu Saved Treville From Prison And 1 Time They Escaped Together

by HiMiTSu



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: 5+1 Fic, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3613389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiMiTSu/pseuds/HiMiTSu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 Times Richelieu Saved Treville From Prison And 1 Time They Escaped Together. Richelieu/Treville romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Richelieu Saved Treville From Prison And 1 Time They Escaped Together

**Author's Note:**

> So I tried to be as ominious as possible when it came to French politics of that period and of Armand's ascend to a position of a Cardinal. Since I don't know much about it even though I did some research. Rangs of Catholic church are difficult so I tried not to specify anything in the story.
> 
> I really like this ship but there are so little stories with them, I got inspired and thought I can contribute:)

1

 

Armand couldn’t actually comprehend why his presence was required here. The soft darkness of the dungeon prison was oppressive, minuscule light from the torches on the walls enough to disperse the darkness but not enough to push away the gloom. Air was misty and wet, stench dominating over the tender smell of his perfume and once again Armand doubted his sanity for coming down there. Still, a debt is something to be taken seriously, and his senior had one to repay to a prisoner. Which brought Armand to his current predicament. A damp little cell behind thick iron bars and a young man on the other side, sitting with his back to the wall, head thrown back and eyes closed.

Armand counted on the sound of his footsteps resonating through the empty space to alert the prisoner to his presence, but the young man gave no indication of noticing his visitor. A subtle clearing of ones throat rendered no results too.

“Monsieur Treville.”

The captive’s eyes opened lazily, gaze running over Armand’s frame from head to toe, as his lips stretched into a smirk. “Why do you sound so irritated already? We’ve just met.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Monsieur Treville.”

The young man took a deep breath, demonstratively relaxing against the cold stones of his prison. “I’d ask you to call me Jean, but when you say my last name it sounds so dirty. Monsieur...?”

“Father would suffice.” Armand replied tersely, drawing away the folds of his heavy cloak that he was wearing to hide his status as a man of the cloth from the guards.

“Ah, well…” Treville’s expression fell. “You are here to give me my last rites?”

“Are you expecting to be executed for stealing some trinkets from an old widow?”

Treville shrugged, as if uncaring but the shade of worry was lurking in his eyes. Armand could not hold an exasperated snort at that. He was a pretty tolerant man; the ones struggling for power needed to have enough patience but it was hard to keep his cool when met with such levels of stupidity. “Execution is not in the cards for you.”

“That’s a good thing,” Treville replied as if Armand’s irritation didn’t bother him in the least.

“In fact you are free to leave.”

“Don’t joke with me, Father. That’s too cruel.”

“That is no joke. It seems along with good swordsman skill you also possess a good deal of luck, Monsieur Treville.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” And the confident smirk was back.

Armand glanced around, making sure the guards were far away enough not to listen in. “It means that during your ridiculous adventures all through Paris last night you managed to unintentionally help out one very influential man.”

“How so?” He was leaning forward now, intrigued.

“That is of no matter to you.” Armand brushed him off easily. “What should interest you, however, is how generous and kind that person is, seeing as having heard of your imminent arrest they decided to help you out.”

The captive frowned. “So what you are saying,” he pushed himself up and in the next moment his face was inches behind the bars, blue eyes boring into Armand’s with intensity. “That my stunt got some rich pompous man even richer and he decided it was worth my freedom.”

Arman hesitated only for a moment before nodding.

“So I can just leave?”

Another nod.

“And what about this lock?” His gaze flew to the door but Armand didn’t bother replying, just threw him a key and turned on his heels to leave.

“Thank you, Father.” Treville shouted out and Armand chose to ignore the mocking note to his tone. Instead he paused to deliver the last piece of his message.

“This influential person seems to think you have a potential, Monsieur Treville. So maybe it’s better not to waste it on tavern brawls and stealing from rich old ladies and do something productive with your time?”

“Like what?” Treville snapped, already out from the cell.

Armand shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. You can become a personal guard, you can join the musketeers, that’s not my business.”

“Yeah, sure.” Treville laughed. “Join the musketeers.” Sniggering he walked past Armand and out of the prison.

 

2

 

The dungeon was as dump and cold as he remembered and he drew the cloak closer to his body to keep some of the warmth. It was a cold winter but without enough snow to make it cozy, just unpleasant biting chill that got into the bones and wouldn’t leave even when you spent half an hour in front of a warming fire. There was no hearth in this prison and walls were all white with snow, the dampness frozen over.

In a cell to his right there was a figure huddled under a thin blanket.

“Monsieur Treville.” Armand called out just like the last time.

The blanket was thrown aside and a smug familiar face peered at Armand through the bars. “Father, what a pleasure. I wasn’t expecting my saving angel to appear this time.”

“Please don’t joke like that.”

“Offending your Catholic sensitivities?” Treville teased but he bowed his head in compliance at the glare he got. “Excuse me.”

Armand nodded his acceptance though the gesture went unnoticed by the other. Treville was busy eyeing his cage as his fingers skimmed over the lock. He was quieter than the last time, more timid; and while the lack of boisterous self-confidence was in a way alarming it surely made Armand’s job easier.

“It would seem you are still in luck, Monsieur Treville.”

Bright blue eyes fixed on his in an instant, narrowed as if waiting for the other to reveal he was merely joking. But Armand simply held his gaze, unwavering and with a touch of exasperation. He allowed a small smirk to tug at the corner of his lips, as he pushed his hand between the bars, a heavy key hanging from his finger. “This time, please, use your freedom more wisely.”

But instead of taking the key Treville grabbed his hand and brought it to his lips swiftly, placing a tentative kiss to Armand’s fingers, cold against cold, and only then grabbed the key.

“Thank you, Father.” He murmured to Armand, who was too stunned to reply but came over his shock quickly, giving a sharp nod and walking away at a pace too fast to be casual.

 

3

 

Treville made no sign of recognition when a guard pulled a heavy iron door open for Armand to enter the cell. He was a clever man after all, though he obviously couldn’t resist lifting his eyebrows in curiosity.

“Thank you,” Armand nodded to the guard, thus dismissing him.

Only when they were alone and Armand took a seat in a weak wooden chair by the prison cot, did he dare ask. “I’m pretty sure this robe doesn’t match your status.”

“Because this time I really did came to give you your last rites.” Armand retorted, with more venom than he intended to. He regretted the tone the minute those words left his mouth and hastened to amend for it. “At least that’s what the guards think.”

It was easy to trick the guards of a small town near Spanish border where Jean Treville got himself captured. At least he was lucky enough to misbehave on the right side of the border; Armand wouldn’t have been able to help him out on Spanish territory. The robes of a simple priest fitted poorly and felt strange on the whole, but he could get over the scratchy feel of rough wool as well as his sensitivities on the subject, if it meant getting Treville out of that damp. They arrived together, Armand with a missive for their Spanish spy and Treville, as a young promising musketeer with a task to provide security. The arranged meeting went without a hitch, what could not be said about a celebration that followed it. A brawl in a tavern, probably Treville’s preferable way to get himself arrested by authorities, followed by a duel. Armand could only stand aside and roll his eyes at the childish actions of a man who, reluctantly, had become his friend. Treville was a skilled fighter and there was no need to worry if he’d loose, but as it turned out they should have worried about him getting caught.

“So you came up with an elaborate plan to get me out? I’m impressed.” Treville’s hushed voice barely carried through the narrow space between them. He put one hand to his heart. “And flattered. I never thought you cared this much.”

“There is nothing elaborate in dressing as a priest visiting a prisoner.” Armand replied archly. “And for all I care you can rot in this cell.”

“You keep saying that, but still always come to my rescue.” The other teased.

“It’s a necessity.” Armand knew he could lie easily and convincingly, even to himself, but it was becoming harder and harder when Treville was concerned.

The other smirked, like he knew exactly what debacle was running through Armand’s head, but chose not to address it this particular time. “So what’s the plan?”

“I figured simple break out would be fine?” Armand reached between the folds of his robes and produced a gun and a small dagger.

“No one expects a priest to be hiding these, huh?”

“When the guard opens the door, you can…incapacitate him.”

“And run for my life?”

“I don’t really understand the purpose of all those quips you are so fond of making all the time.”

“They show how humorous, charming and witty I am.”

“I highly doubt so, seeing how you possess none of the mentioned qualities.” He lifted his hand, stopping Treville from yet another ridiculous comeback. “Alas, we have no time for this pointless quarrel, although I’m sure you can go on for a long time.”

A leer appeared on Treville’s lips and Armand spoke over him before a joke about at the other’s sexual prowess could make a timely appearance. “Just don’t kill the guards. They are not at fault that the king’s musketeers are prone to stupid and childish behavior.”

“You are always so terribly harsh with me. But I guess it’s all out of love.”

Armand chose not to reply to that particular comment, mostly to keep his own sanity intact. Instead he said loud enough to be heard in the corridor. “Guard!”

 

4

 

Armand was tired. Exhausted even, his quest for power was taking too much from him lately. He had plans for his bwloved country, ideas which could strengthen France and help it keep its position as a leading empire; but to fulfill those plans he had to move higher in the hierarchy, the influence he had now was far from enough.

He barely had time for personal matters, his life revolving around work, political intrigues and plots, keeping a careful balance while catering to every member of the royal family in their own way in order to stay in favor, making unions with nobles perusing the same goals…Armand made so many enemies and not one true friend through the years.

He had some loyal servants, soldiers of his small personal regiment, who he knew would not betray his secrets; he had some lovers, now that his position was strong enough to allow such frivolities, but no one he could allow himself to get close to.

And then there was Jean-Armand du Peyrer de Treville.

Armand was reluctant to call the musketeer his friend, but he also could not put him in the category ‘acquaintance’ and, despite the constant banter, they definitely weren’t enemies. Maybe he was a friend… but they had not seen much of each other lately and every second encounter left Armand seething with barely repressed anger and also a feeling of emptiness. Which was absolutely ridiculous and warranted absolutely no thinking over.

It was late evening and the office was drowning in shadows, a flickering candle light not enough to disperse all the darkness, but that was good – Armand preferred it that way. He leaned back in the chair, relaxing into its softness, and his fingers fiddled with a piece of paper in his hand. It was a simple missive, couple of lines scribbled in a messy cursive, their meaning plain and clear.

Armand’s only maybe-friend had been arrested. He would have smiled if he didn’t feel so tired and if a mere idea of Treville didn’t bring uncomfortable feelings in his chest. Emptiness. Longing. Desire.

Ridiculous and unnecessary feelings. Dangerous feelings.

He heaved a long sigh. What a bother…One problem that should not have existed in the first place. Armand’s fingers crushed the missive, throwing it aside, as he reached for a clean piece of paper. These days he had enough influence to carefully deal with such a problem on his own.

He didn’t need to go down to the damp cells. He _didn’t want to_. At least that’s what he was trying to make himself believe as he sent a man away with his note. Treville might not even understand who helped him out this time. And that would only be for the best.

 

5

 

Armand watched his own men drag Treville away while the musketeer struggled and attempted to fight back even though his weapons had been confiscated. Three soldiers were needed to take him away from the streets and to the small prison at the Richelieu residence. It was a necessary evil though at that moment it did not seem like a good deed.

Armand followed his men without haste, arriving at the prison right as they were getting up the stone stairs, swearing all the way and exchanging smug comments for having overpowered a musketeer.

“It’s for you own good.” Those words sounded hollow and the glare he received instead of an answer proved he wasn’t fooling anyone. “You were getting out of control.” Irritation showed clearly in his tone.

“Yeah, sure.” Treville ran a hand over his brow and touched his split lip with his fingers, wincing at the sting.

“Your Captain would throw you out if he knew you were causing yet another disruption.” There probably was no use trying to reason with him now, but Armand was too wound up to keep his emotions in check. Here with the only two of them he could let his composure slip, just a little…

“For how long do you intend to keep me here?” Treville asked angrily.

“You will be let out as soon as you are back to your senses.” He replied harshly. “What made you snap like that?”

It’s been a long time since Treville went rampant in Paris; being a musketeer allowed the man put all his energy to a better use. This time though…something went so wrong he attacked one of the nobles, throwing aside the guards and punching one of His Majesty’s servants right in the face. Armand knew that particular noble well enough to understand that the move probably wasn’t unwarranted – the man was a right bastard – but repercussions of violent actions against him surely outweighed the satisfaction. Clearly, Treville was of the opposite opinion.

“I don’t like that bastard. Isn’t it a reason enough?”

A hollow laugh tore its way out from Armand’s throat. “That’s how much you value your life?” He stopped in his frantic pacing before the bars, but felt too agitated to stand still. “His guards would have torn you apart had I not interfered!” Yes, that was a good release for the anger and fear he felt. If the stupid man could not see fault in his impulsive actions Armand would slam it into his empty head with harsh words.  
  
“So you arresting me is actually a favor?” Treville asked sarcastically.

“I’m baffled that you are unable to see how dangerous the situation actually was.”

Treville scoffed. “I don’t care. And I know you well enough to understand that you don’t hold my well-being in high regards either.”

The words hurt and Armand took a moment to run a hand over his eyes, trying to get rid of a headache that was building behind his closed eyelids. “You can think whatever you want.” He said finally after composing himself. “One of the guards will let you out once you cool off.”

And he stormed out, leaving behind the infuriating man and all the troubling thoughts and desires he ignited.

 

+1

 

“Could you, please, stop pacing? It is terribly annoying.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about being worried about our well-being.” Armand snapped harshly, but ceased his mindless walking, choosing to lean on the wall by the window instead. Through the bars he could see only the sky and the green of beautiful plains surrounding the mansion. However ridiculous it was but they got captured by some maniac thinking he can get a good ransom from His Majesty himself. As if the young king would fully understand what was happening or his royal mother would bother with their subjects; and they were not exactly that important anyway. Still, some shut in who had last been to the capital decades ago deemed them valuable enough to keep in his basement. His very well protected basement, which looked more like a dungeon than a place where one might keep his sacks of apples. Which was also unfortunate since Armand was growing hungry.

“I am trying to come up with a plan too.” Treville snapped in return. “But you don’t see me pacing around like a wound up toy.”

Armand had to take a deep breath to reign in his irritation. Lately the tension between them was reaching unbearable levels. They sniped at each other, quarreled and argued. At the palace, at the musketeers’ lodgings, in the stables, out on the streets; many passers-by, nobles and peasants, soldiers and holy men, had been witnesses to their angry bickering. Anything could be a subject, from an urgent political matter to the way Treville’s horse was neighing. It was terribly annoying, as if the stupid creature was mocking Armand’s every move.

They went from not communicating and avoiding the other for months to casually bumping into each other every other day. And each meeting ended in a disaster.

Armand couldn’t deny it anymore; Treville irked him, got under his skin, made him lose his cool…

The cold stone felt nice to his heated forehead as Armand leaned his head by the window. The damp smell was horrible, but a feeling of relief that came with the cold was worth it. He didn’t want to fight with Treville, it was too exhausting. His eyes closed against the sun.

“Any ideas then?” He could have put so much sarcasm in those words if he wasn’t so tired.

“Just…break out?”

Armand snorted, but even he knew it sounded week. “My guards were supposed to catch up with us. When they don’t find us at the meeting place they’ll start searching.”

“But what are the chances they’ll come here?”

“They are no idiots. If asking around doesn’t give any results, they are bound to send a messenger here. This is the only noble residence around. And chances are, our captor will have sent his ransom letter by then.”

“Good thing he wants money in exchange for us. He needs us alive.”

Armand could only nod. It was a good point. A good _obvious_ point. But no matter…

“Are you alright?” Treville’s worried voice broke through the haze in his mind.

Armand didn’t notice the musketeer get up and come closer, now he almost startled at the presence at his side. “Fine.”

“We’ve been riding all through day and night. It’s not something easy to take.”

“ _You_ are fine.” Armand peeled his eyes open to look Treville up and down.

The other chuckled. “I am a soldier.”

A hand wound around Armand’s shoulders tentatively and he leaned into the touch, letting himself be turned around and lead to a narrow cot on his right. He did not protest when Treville shoved him down gently, making him sit and then guiding his body so he could lie down with relative comfort. “You should rest.”

A cloak the color of forget-me-nots was bunched up under his cheek and fingers tentatively ran through his hair in a soothing gesture. It was all too sweet and too close to what Armand forbade himself to desire but he had no power to protest. He drifted off in seconds.

When Armand woke up it was mostly dark, but orange rays of light from a raising sun was falling through the small window – it was already morning. There were fingers gently carding through his hair and a soft humming streaming through the silence.

He wanted to call out the other’s name, say something nice, thank him for the care, but the words stuck in his throat. “So did you come up with a plan, yet?” He quipped instead.

The humming stopped, broken by a chuckle. “I have a couple ideas. But they mostly revolve around the use of brute force.”

“Hm…it is good to use our strong points.”

“Our?”

“Well, your resources are my resources in this situation.” It didn’t escape Armand how Treville’s hand was still in his hair and he had no desire to shake it off. After minutes of comfortable silence the musketeer spoke again. “The guard came in. Brought some food. You should eat.”

Armand shook his head and finally Treville retrieved his hand. “Not hungry.”

“I’m planning on us having our big break in the morning. You’ll need strength.”

“I thought you were providing the brawn.” Armand joked, lifting himself up on one elbow to meet Treville’s eyes. The musketeer smiled at him; he was sitting on the cold floor by the cot, his back to the wall.

“Well, it’s not like you are completely incapable of standing up for yourself.”

“Good to know you understand that.”

They were bantering, not arguing angrily like it had been for months, but trading friendly quips again and it felt good. It brought a smile to Armand’s lips and Treville’s expression mirrored him. For the first time in he didn’t even know how long there was no heavy weight pressing on his heart as he looked into the other’s eyes. He felt light and content. Even in the cell, locked up in this darkness, he wasn’t scared or worried. He only felt joy at how unexpectedly easy the communication came to them this time.

“Are you still not feeling well?” Treville asked, brave enough to reach out and cup Armand’s cheek. Gentle. Ever so gentle and tentative, ready to pull back at any moment.

“No, I’m much better now. Thank you.”

They held each other’s gazes, not daring to spoil the silence, reluctant to break eye contact. And finally, when Treville moved in for a kiss, Armand allowed himself have it. A moment, drowning in sensation, the musketeer’s chapped lips pressed to his own, sliding slowly and nipping gently. Warmth flew through him, and he felt hot despite the chill of the night.

Treville’s hands moved down from his face, encircling his frame as the man dragged himself from the floor to sit by Armand on the cot. A soft sigh escaped him as Armand’s carded his fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck and soft kisses started to grow heavier and more desperate in their urgency.

The sensation made the whole world fall back, color disappearing and sound being muted. Armand had many lovers but none of them made him feel this way; none of those forgettable men and women were the ones he had _feelings for_. Jean Treville on the other hand…

Armand clung to him tighter, bringing their bodies closer and closer until there was no space in-between but it still wasn’t enough. Their gasps for air and moans and sights filled the silence, interrupted only by a loud clang and a sound of footsteps…

“Footsteps!” Armand gasped, tearing himself away from Treville. The other tried to bring him back, disoriented for a moment, until the meaning of the words caught up to him.

“I hit him, you ran.” Treville whispered urgently. “I’ll be right after you.”

Footsteps drew nearer and they separated, the musketeer standing and moving to the door while Armand waited. The guard stepped into view, tray with their meager breakfast held in front of him, and as he made a move to balance it in one hand, unlocked the door. In that moment Treville rushed at him, shoving the man to the ground, making an opening for Armand to escape. Armand ran, half throwing a glance back to make sure Treville was following.

A hand grasped his as the musketeer caught up and together they rushed to regain their freedom.

  
And Armand knew that from this moment onward everything was going to change. For the best, he hoped. There was no other way when Jean was by his side.


End file.
